Page 61 of Crossroads Magic
“We should come back,” I said softly.
Benedict held up his hand toward me. Then he dropped into a crouch so his gaze was nearly level with Trevalyan’s glasses. “The crown prince of the last kingdom acknowledged Anna just now.”
Trevalyan’s eyes widened. He turned his chin and lifted it, his gaze settling on my face.
I lowered myself into a sort-of crouch, one hand on the brick apron in front of the fireplace. It would save Trevalyan from having to crane his neck to look up at me.
Trevalyan smiled at me, showing large teeth beneath the drooping sandy blonde mustache. “So…you’re one of us, now.”
I snapped upright, rising to my feet with a speed that made me clutch the mantelshelf.
“Not now, Trev,” Benedict said. “For now, let Anna meet you properly.”
“Yes,” Trevalyan replied. He put his pipe on the rug beside him. “I am Trevalyan Amariah Alexandrescu, Keeper of the Lonely Stone, and not long for this world.”
“You’ve been dying for thirty years, Trev,” Benedict said. He looked up at me. “Trevalyan and Maximillian came to visit the Crossing some time ago. They stayed, as so many of us do.”
“Maximillian left?” I asked.
“He died,” Benedict said, his voice even lower. “An infection I couldn’t halt.”
Trevalyan groped for his pipe and bought the stem to his mouth.
I tried to adjust to the implications in Benedict’s simple recitation. I had a feeling that Trevalyan had been planning to die for thirty years, because that was how long it had been since Maximilian had died.
That would have made Benedict about ten years old at the time. But he was speaking about healing and treating patients at that time as if he had been an adult.
How old was Benedict Marcus?
Come to that, how old was Trevalyan? He looked very old, but his eyes were young. They were staring at me, and I looked away.
“Trevalyan is highly skilled in many areas,” Benedict said. “I often consult with him on the power of herbs.”
“One of my areas of interest,” Trevalyan admitted. “Especially since Max died.” His voice was sad. “We might have saved him,” he added, glancing at Benedict.
“His lungs were too far gone, Trev,” Benedict said softly. “You know that. There was no spell, no mixture, that could have saved him. You tried, too. Remember?”
I had been about to point out that western, modern medicine might have saved him, until Benedict said “spells” and all my thoughts froze. “Spells?” I breathed.
Benedict got to his feet and Trevalyan leaned back on one hand to look up at me. “The province of witches,” Trevalyan intoned. “Your mother had a small skill.”
“Trevalyan’s is even greater,” Benedict said, as if he was speaking about skill with a tennis racket. “Still,” he added.
““Still?”
“I retired,” Trevalyan said, his tone distant, as if he had lost interest in the conversation. He picked up his pipe once more.
“Can one retire from…from being a witch?” I asked. The word was difficult to speak.
Benedict’s smile was small. “One can retire from any profession, but the skill, the knowledge, the inherent ability…that never goes away. As you will find out.”
I jumped, as though someone had slammed a door, or let off firecrackers right next to me. “Me? No…I’m not anything but ordinary.”
“You are Thamina’s daughter,” Trevalyan said. “You will learn what that means. You are just coming into your powers now. It is why the crown prince acknowledged you.”
“No,” I said flatly.
“Have you noticed anything unusual happening lately?” Benedict asked. “Animals behaving oddly? Birds coming far closer to you than normal?”
